Chapter 88 – Wider Release
Jenna's interview with Wayne was already nearing its end, and the biggest impression this young director left on her was his unwavering confidence in his work—tempered by a surprising level of clarity. Success hadn't gone to his head.
"Director Garfield," she said with interest, "we conducted a poll with moviegoers beforehand. What they're most curious about is your choice of genre. I heard both of your films were written by you personally—is that true?"
That was something Jenna herself had been wondering. Looking at Wayne, he didn't exactly give off brooding or dark vibes—certainly not the stereotypical tortured artist. He was calm, composed, and quite normal.
"Yes, I wrote both scripts myself," Wayne nodded. "I've always had a strong interest in this genre. I started researching it as soon as I entered college."
Hearing her bring up genre again, Wayne felt a bit helpless. He had considered trying other types of films, but he couldn't just abandon the carefully laid plans he'd set since arriving here.
From the moment he came to this world, he realized the potential treasure trove in his mind. But to turn those ideas into reality, he needed serious training in filmmaking. A self-taught director would never have the same advantage as someone who'd gone through systematic, academic instruction.
In his previous life, Wayne had been just an ordinary guy. After becoming bedridden with illness and sinking into depression, he'd developed an obsession with films of this type. Aside from a few standout commercial blockbusters, his mental archive was almost entirely filled with thrillers and horror.
It wasn't that he didn't want to explore other genres—he'd even dreamed of being a producer as a kid. Compared to directing, producing might've been easier to succeed in using the knowledge from his past.
But in the end, he gave up that idea. What really drew him in was directing—he loved making movies, loved having creative control, loved the spotlight that came with being at the helm.
Even though Hollywood had always been producer-driven, capable directors never had trouble making their mark. Serving as both director and producer was standard for the best of them.
Noticing Wayne drift slightly in thought, Jenna raised her voice on purpose.
"We know you come from a well-off, loving family," she said. "But your stories tend to lean dark and intense—where does that inspiration come from?"
"I think it comes from observation and reflection," Wayne said, snapping back to focus. He pointed to his eyes. "If you really pay attention to the world around you, there's inspiration everywhere. Take Get Out, for example—I got the idea from witnessing acts of racism in my everyday life."
He tried to make up a plausible backstory on the fly, one that sounded grounded. It wasn't like he could tell her, "I brought it from 30 years in the future."
"These sparks of inspiration are what make you geniuses so different," Jenna smiled, clearly impressed. "People like me would never notice those things. So, now that Get Out is complete, will you be jumping straight into your next project?"
"Probably not right away," Wayne leaned back into the couch, relaxing a bit. "I haven't taken a proper break in a long time. I started filming before I even graduated. Once Happy Death Day wrapped, I immediately started Get Out. It's been nonstop. I think I'll take a short vacation first."
He paused, then added, "But it won't be too long. I already have plans for my next project."
"Can you give us a hint?" Jenna leaned in slightly, sensing an opportunity. "Will it be another horror film with that touch of dark humor, your signature style?"
"No, it's going to be different from the last two," Wayne smiled slightly. "I can't say much yet—only that it will still be a Garfield-style film."
He rubbed his brow, visibly growing tired. Interviews like this wore him out more than he liked to admit.
"Alright, your fans will definitely be looking forward to it," Jenna glanced at the time. It was probably best to start wrapping up. She'd noticed his subtle body language shift—he was done.
"So… how are things going between you and Halle Berry? A lot of fans really love seeing you two together."
It was a celebrity magazine, after all—gossip was part of the game. No high-profile interview went without at least one question about personal life.
Wayne had expected this. He answered smoothly, "We're doing great. As for the future… I'll leave that in God's hands."
"Is Halle your first girlfriend? And since she's also an actress, have you considered casting her in one of your future projects?" Jenna pressed on, completely unabashed, digging for anything juicy.
Wayne hesitated, caught off guard by the personal question. First girlfriend? After a brief pause, he replied vaguely, "You could say that. As for working together… that'll be her decision. Whether she wants to be part of one of my films is entirely up to her."
Jenna asked a few more lifestyle questions before finally ending the interview. Wayne stood, shook her hand, and stepped out of the room.
"All done, boss?" Nina hurried over when she saw him exit, handing him a bottle of water.
Wayne took it, drank a few gulps, then passed it back to her. Turning to his agent Jimmy, he grumbled, "Doing interviews like this—especially long one-on-ones—feels more exhausting than a full-contact football game."
"Wayne, this is your chance to market yourself," Jimmy reminded him. "These interviews will skyrocket your visibility."
He glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby, then lowered his voice slightly. "You guys go on ahead. I'll stick around to have another word with them, just to make sure nothing unapproved ends up in tomorrow's issue."
"Okay. We'll head back first."
Wayne's Time magazine feature was all part of Warner Bros.' calculated PR strategy—riding the momentum of Get Out's success. At the same time, John Gray, the studio's production manager for the film, was hard at work pushing the box office even higher.
At that moment, John was following a receptionist through the offices of Imperial Theaters, on his way to meet with their head of operations. He had one goal: to persuade them to increase the number of screens showing Get Out.
Jeff had already spoken to them on the phone. Now it was time to seal the deal in person.
The receptionist led him straight into the executive's office.
"Thank you," John said as he took a seat on the guest couch. He accepted the coffee offered by the secretary. Once they were alone, he finally spoke.
"Mr. Campbell, I believe Jeff already discussed this over the phone. I'm just here to confirm—how many more theaters can we expect Get Out to expand into before the weekend?"
Cohen Campbell wasn't particularly close with John, the Warner Bros. production manager—he'd only exchanged a few words with him at industry events. But he was quite familiar with Jeff Robinov, and his working relationship with Warner Bros. over the years had always been smooth.
"I guarantee that by Friday, we'll free up 250 theaters for your film," Cohen said, getting straight to the point. "I've already discussed this with Jeff. Do you have something else in mind?"
Cohen wasn't surprised. Get Out, a small-budget thriller, had become a breakout hit. Naturally, Warner Bros. would be pulling every string possible to boost its box office numbers. He just wasn't sure what John was trying to push.
"I just came from AMC," John said, lifting his coffee for a sip while watching Cohen's expression. "They've already agreed to add 300 theaters for Get Out."
Cohen's first instinct was disbelief. He knew the circuit too well—AMC simply didn't have that much space to suddenly free up for Warner. Screening contracts are usually locked in well before release, and adding new slots often means cutting something else.
But John pressed on, reading his doubt.
"The potential of Get Out is obvious to everyone. I think you should consider reallocating screens from Far and Away to us. Don't tell me your contracts are set in stone—I'm well aware there's flexibility built in."
He was right. Theater chains existed to make money, and nothing spoke louder than profit. And right now, Far and Away was sinking fast, while Get Out was surging ahead. Why wouldn't they capitalize on that momentum?
That was the exact same pitch John had used with AMC. They'd originally planned to add 250 locations, but he convinced them to push it up to 300.
"Alright," Cohen nodded. "We'll carve out another 300 theaters. More North American moviegoers should get the chance to see this kind of exceptional film."
It wasn't a tough decision. Get Out had opened in 2,088 theaters—a number unusually high for a low-budget horror movie. Warner Bros.' backing had been a big reason it got that kind of start. Without that support, most theater chains wouldn't have taken a chance on such a small film.
But now that the film had exploded at the box office, expanding its release was inevitable. The only question was—how much?
Naturally, if more screens were being given to Get Out, then they had to come from somewhere. And that "somewhere" was clearly going to be Far and Away, Universal's underperforming title.
And as John had pointed out, their contracts did include flexibility clauses—for just this kind of scenario.
"Warner has already arranged for all additional film reels to be printed and shipped," John added as he got up. "They'll all be delivered before Friday. That's all I needed. I still have other theater chains to visit."
He shook hands with Cohen and left the offices of Imperial Theaters.
Truthfully, this meeting had felt more like a formality. North America's two biggest theater chains had both agreed to his requests without hesitation—something so smooth, it almost made John uneasy.
But just as John walked out, Cohen's phone rang—it was a call from Universal Pictures.
"Carl, I'll do my best to maintain Far and Away's current screen count until the weekend," Cohen said, his tone diplomatic but firm. "If ticket sales don't improve, I'll have to reduce its screen share."
He paused before adding, "Yes, only until the weekend. Carl, this is business. I have responsibilities—to the company, and to the bottom line. Our theaters have to stay profitable."
Everyone in the game was playing by the same rules. Everyone wanted one thing—money. Universal hadn't even asked for an expansion; all they wanted was to hold their current slot. But even that might soon be out of reach.
Cohen could hear the frustration in Carl's voice, but it didn't change the facts.
This was business. Nothing personal.